Opening the Backpack

It's mid-August, and you're preparing for the beginning of the new school year. You've dug out some pens, gotten a new pair of shoes... And last, you need The Backpack.
You forgot to clean it out in June, and now it lurks, hidden behind your door. It's got things living in it by now - mold, bugs maybe. Worse yet, you know that you've left valuable things in there - papers, money... mementos of friendships gone, that phone number you never dug out and called. Someone, you now realize, has been vaguely pissed off at you for two months, and you didn't even know.

You can't do this all in a rush. You need to come at it one compartment at a time, maybe with gloves and a gas mask... Okay, now I'm exaggerating. But you must be prepared for what you find, and for the task ahead. You'll be overwhelmed sometimes with emotions you'd thought were long gone, for good or for ill.

But it's worth it.

Welcome to my August Backpack - full of hastily tucked-away thoughts, half-forgotten until now. They need to be aired; organized; sorted through; and weeded, like books, for those that no longer serve a purpose. If you wish to watch this slow process and lend me your moral support, I appreciate it. If you find yourself able to lend a hand by suggesting how things might better fold flat... even better. Be my guest, and comment.

I have no idea whether this first posting will also be my last, incidentally. I have tried keeping a paper journal - a journal on deviantART - a video blog of my transition, on YouTube - to no avail. I've posted long notes on Facebook, but that site inspires a supreme "tl:dr" attitude (even in me) and those postings never accomplish what they were supposed to. My introspection has tended to drop to what will fit conveniently in a status message... But perhaps every time I see another friend's blog, it will remind me to write; and eventually, perhaps mine will do the same for her when her willpower flags. All I can do is try, and hope.

August is also my birth month. Here, August is the peak of summer, rainier than July but hotter and full of thunderstorms. Paradoxically, the days are getting shorter, and you can feel the rush of life preparing to prepare for the fall even in the midst of summer's plenty. This is my month. It is happy, healthy, and warm, but always half-mindful of its imminent decline: its mortality.

'August', as an adjective, has a different emphasis, and means regal and magnificent. Or maybe well-renowned? Let's check that:

au·gust

 [aw-guhst]

adjective

1.

inspiring reverence or admiration; of supreme dignity or grandeur; majestic: an august performance of a religious drama.

2.

venerable; eminent: an august personage.

Origin:

1655–65;  < Latin augustus  sacred, grand

[stolen from Dictionary.com]

So... both. I don't think that much in here is going to be 'august', but I have always been interested by Augustus Caesar. My month is his month - his namesake. In many ways I think he was a horrible little man, but we'll leave that for another posting much later. (It'll probably be titled 'Lies to Children'.) His reign, and that of Julius Caesar before him, marked the glorious beginning of the end for Rome - still with expansion to go, but clearly a turning point. I think he chose the right month to name after himself.

Can you tell I'm going to ramble sometimes? Yet in others, I'm going to be baring my soul about things I may never have previously admitted - even to myself. I may spend hours avoiding writing some of this stuff, because I don't want to say it. I may change major parts of my life as a result of this journal.

Wish me luck, and enjoy the ride...